Posts tagged ‘death’

It’s been a dark few days fer us here at the Agency, I gotta say. But Sandi finally convinced me to stop drinkin’ the grain alcohol (wasn’t workin’ on me anyway, but it’s the thought that counts), get up off the floor and type a few words. She says it’ll help me “sort through things,” but really I think she just wanted me ta get up so she could vacuum under me. Well, whatever. Here goes.

In case you’ve been livin’ under a rock, the big news is that we recently lost our beloved Bea. To cancer, of all things. Death has a twisty sense a’humor, I guess. Although it ain’t too funny to me, and next time I see that skeletal broad, I’m gonna tell her so. And I mean, 86 ain’t even that old. Couldn’t we have had a few more years a’laughs together?

I’ll tell ya what, though, I can’t be too mad at Death, because after all, she’s gotta want some fun and laughs herself, and my Bea really could bring it when she wanted to. As can be seen in Exhibit A: Bea Arthur Makes Us Laugh With Variations on One Syllable:

So I can get why one a’my favorite gals wanted some quality girl-time with one a’my other favorite gals. An’ I guess I could be worried about the fact that Bea’s stuck in the afterlife with Death, who’s kinda the epitome of “a jealous mistress,” except fer the fact that Bea can totally hold her own against anything. Larger than life (an’ maybe Death?), that was my Bea. And chock full a’talent and personality. An’ a’course, I’m not the only one who thought so. After all, Broadway’s tippin’ its hat to her today. And good fer them. I bet she woulda liked that.

An’, ya know, there really ain’t much more I can say about it all except that, as usual, Bea says it best:

…An’ maybe I need a little more a’that grain alcohol after all. Just enough fer a toast:

To Bea,
wherever she may be,
be it a better place than here with me,
’cause that’s what she deserves, ya see?

Cheers, Beatrice Arthur. Thanks for all the laughs, and may you rest in peace.

Yes, that’s right, the Man of Iron himself has just called our humble little office to hire ME, badass merc that I am, to carry out a job of international significance!

…Well, ok, maybe not international significance, but surely at least national significance. See, apparently Iron Man was playing poker with Cap last night, and Cap lost, bigtime, but then, he refused to pay the forfeit! Can you believe it?! So now Iron Man’s hired me to bring in the prize.

I do feel a little funny about it, ya know, ‘cause I mean, this is CAPTAIN AMERICA we’re talking about here, but hey, even Cap shouldn’t be allowed to welch on a poker forfeit, even if some people would say that’s the American way.

Iron Man’s about to fax us all the details, like what it is we’re going after, but I’m already putting together the team. We’re gonna have to go all out on this, because, I mean, hey, CAPTAIN AMERICA. So even Orca X is running the ops with us this time. He may not be able to get from point A to point B without a winch anymore, but he’s still got his dead-on aim when it comes to shooting, and shooting’ll probably figure into the plan (not shooting to kill or nothin’. Just general shooting.)

Anyway, while I’m waiting for the details, I figured I’d kill some time answering questions, so here we go! First up:

Oh, numbered questions, I do love you so! Especially when your number is small and manageable. Numbers such as two are like music to my…eyes. Anyway.

1. Well, darlin’, even though having an infection like you around could be real fun (what kind of infection are you? The long, lingering kind, like TB? The short, sharp kind like whooping cough? Wait, are those the same thing? I have no idea.), the problem is, I’m sorta engaged right now. And, well, honestly, you wouldn’t want to fight my fiancée for my oh-so-desirable hand in marriage, ‘cause she can kick some serious ass when she wants to. Actually, even if you saw her on the street you might want to ‘cross over to the other side’ (haha, I kill myself. Ohh, man, I just did it again!) because she can be pretty deadly when riled. (Heeeeheehee.) Just so you know what you should watch out for, sometimes she looks kinda like this, although sometimes she’s even more hot than that. But whatever she looks like, I’m pretty sure you’ll know her when you see her, and if you do see her, well…run real fast in the other direction?

On the OTHER hand, since it’s taking her so damn long to pick out the wedding dress or whatever these dames do to delay the big day, I’m pretty sure she’d be cool with me having a little, y’know, casual female company now and again. And she’s not really around that much, what with her job being so demanding and all, so, well, what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her anyway, so…CALL ME.

2. I think, damn, they got some nice bathrooms up in that big white house. And then I wonder what kind of sandwiches I could order them to make for me. Mmm, sandwiches on demand. Any time I want. Mmmm. Oh. And then I remember how much it sucks for Cable, having to be president of that weeny little fake European country or whatever, keeping tabs on all the silly little uprisings and the plumbing and junk, and I think of all the boring paperwork I’d have to do if I was president of, say, the good ol’ U. S. of A., and then I think: NO THANKS. Except I think I’d be really good at the part where you have to talk to ambassadors and stuff. I figure I could talk to them until they saw reason or passed out, and either one would probably be pretty good for me.

And also…quick question! If I was all super-powered and awesome, what should I call myself?

Ah, Adelaide, ma cherie (well, it should be Adelaide, even if it’s not), I am flattered by ze hours ov work you have put eento zis charming statuette of moi! Clearly you are enchantee avec moi, mon petit chapeau. So let us run away and live a carefree life somewhere exotic… like Pittsburg!

Or, y’know, there’s still that date we got planned, if I ever get some merc werc in Germany!

And to answer your question, well, clearly you’re a mutant in disguise, with the ability to manipulate clay and possibly also earth (which is a nicer way of saying dirt). Otherwise you couldn’t have made such a cute little statue of yours truly. And since you’re good with your hands, (ooh, I hope I hope!) and German, well, it’s pretty obvious. Your alias would be…Masseuse! No? Well maybe, um, Masseformen? Damn, I’m really no good at these Germanic languages. (Although, hey, at least “Masseuse” is better than “Schmutzeuse,” right?) OH WAIT. I got it. Oh, I am so good! I am so the MAN. Your mutant alias, Miss Adelaide, would be: Kaolin! There. Pretty AND descriptive. I win! I’m goin’ on break.

Oooh! For real, I am, ‘cause here comes that fax from Iron Man. I can’t wait to see what it is we’re after.